


Bottle

by Jay_eagle



Series: Fandot Creativity Night Fics [10]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 20:58:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10143977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: For a fandot creativity night prompt, 'bottle'.





	

“Why do you have it?” Martin twisted the bottle between his hands, unhappily. “At the back of your wardrobe?”

 

Douglas was still frozen in the doorway, a picture of unpleasant surprise. Martin tried to keep his voice steady. “Why, Douglas?” He set the empty gin bottle down, the hollow clunk it made on the floor echoing the hollow hurt inside his chest. “I…” Martin hugged his midriff, leaning forward pleadingly. “Are you…”

 

“I’m not drinking again.” Douglas’ voice was harsh, and he looked as if he’d surprised even himself by speaking.

 

Martin exhaled shakily. “You’re sure?”

 

Douglas let his flight bag drop to the ground, toeing it aside. He strode over to the bed, Martin’s eyes following him from where he sat in the corner, and turned his back to Martin to strip off his jacket and shirt. “Quite sure,” Douglas said, tersely.

 

Martin felt limp with relief, but Douglas’ posture stopped him going to hug him. “Then… why…?” he asked, tentative.

 

Douglas kicked his shirt aside, bent to remove his shoes. Hiding his face. “It’s years old. Look at the date if you don’t believe me.”

 

Martin didn’t even glance downwards. “I believe you.”

 

“I’m an alcoholic. Never trust an alcoholic.” Douglas’ shoes were off, and he was kicking off his socks.

 

Martin felt his mouth twist. “I trust you.”

 

“Then you’re an idiot.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“Why would you trust me?” Douglas’ horribly focused stripping had stilled. He was staring away from Martin, looking straight at the blank wall.

 

“Because I _know_ you.” Martin was across the room before he knew he’d even moved. He wrapped his arms round Douglas’ stomach, shivered at the rigidity of Douglas’ spine.

 

“You don’t know what I was like then.”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

Douglas laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “No?” He twisted round in Martin’s embrace, looking down on him, brown eyes hard and mocking. Martin flinched. “You would. You would care.”

 

Martin tried to draw himself up, but he couldn’t match Douglas’ height. Douglas looked away, and the smallest of tremors traced through his skin. “Tell me why you have the bottle.”

 

Douglas’ jaw hardened. After a moment he spoke, calmly, deliberately. “I keep it.” Martin was quiet, and after a moment, Douglas went on. “To remind me.” Still Martin held his tongue, and Douglas stammered for the first time Martin could ever remember. “That - that’s the drink I had before I dropped Verity off at school.” His eyes darted down, but didn’t meet Martin’s. “And before I called in sick to work.”

 

“Your last drink?”

 

Douglas did meet Martin’s eyes, then. “How did you know?” He looked startled, and Martin couldn’t tell it was because he had guessed correctly or because Martin hadn’t run away.

 

“I told you.” Martin held Douglas tighter. “I know you, Douglas Richardson.”

 

“And you –“ Douglas cleared his throat, licked dry lips. “You still…”

 

“I still love you.” Martin kissed him, then, not letting Douglas draw away for long minutes.

 

“Oh,” Douglas said, at last, his eyes now warm, not flinty. “Oh.”

 

“Yes.” Martin rested his head on Douglas’ shoulder. “You idiot.”


End file.
